


Final Bell

by Pessa



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, F/M, post-episode: The Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pessa/pseuds/Pessa
Summary: After The Fight, Chakotay finally understands some things.
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 30
Kudos: 80





	Final Bell

It’s not Thursday.

Usually, they eat together in her quarters on Thursday nights. Tonight, it’s Tuesday, but Chakotay insisted in his quiet way that she come over. And even though that means rescheduling a long-planned evening meeting with the housing committee, she acquiesces. They only just escaped from chaotic space and she still goes weak with relief and gratitude and guilt every time she looks at him. She’d give him much more right now than an extra evening of her company, if he asked.  _ Though you still wouldn’t give him what you both really want, _ a voice whispers.

She shakes that thought off, wondering where it came from, and knocks. She and Chakotay haven’t looked at each other that way in a long time. 

He’s out of uniform when he answers, in that white shirt she likes, holding a bottle of his treasured Antarian cider. She feels a lurch of uneasiness, and isn’t sure why - despite the casual appearance, there’s nothing romantic about the vibe. So why is she so nervous? “Hey,” he says. “Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Smells amazing,” she says, and it does. She sheds her own uniform jacket and tosses it over a chair.

“Thanks,” he says. “It’s a new recipe. Thought I’d try something different.”

It’s a quiet meal. Comfortable, despite her tickle of worry. They trade desultory remarks about ship gossip and the civilization they expect to encounter next week, but largely they sit in easy silence. She finds herself looking at him, cataloguing every detail in a way that she would normally avoid. Something about the strange energy in the air tonight seems to permit it. He’s been haggard and taciturn since he left the infirmary, but he looks a little better now. Calmer. More centered. His sensitive mouth wears the usual slight smile it has in repose, but she thinks there’s something a little sad in his eyes.

“What?” he says finally over dessert.

She shakes her head. Doesn’t try to pretend she wasn’t staring. “I could ask you the same thing,” she says. “Why am I here, Chakotay?”

He smiles. “I asked you here,” he says quietly, “To tell you you were right.”

“Of course I was,” she says promptly. “About what?”

He laughs and ducks his head, then says, “About us.”

“Oh.”

He reaches over and covers her hand with his. “I’ve always gone along, but I’ve never agreed,” he says. “But after this week, I think I finally understand.”

“Chakotay, you don’t have to -”

But he shakes his head. “Please, just let me explain.”

“All right.”

“I know you always worried that being with someone would compromise you, somehow,” he said. “Would compromise us. That we wouldn’t be able to be objective. I used to feel sure that was wrong - I knew you might have to send me on a suicide mission one day, but I knew you were strong enough to handle it, and I’m not scared to die.”

“Easy for you to say,” she mutters.

He smiles kindly. “You could do it, though. I know you could. And I was always completely at peace with that. But this week -” he shakes his head. “I’m not scared to die, but the madness - that does scare me. I’d rather face death a thousand times than lose my mind. And seeing you, standing over me, ordering me to walk down that path - that was hard.”

Pain and guilt jolt through her so hard that she actually feels a cold sweat break out across her nose. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t see any other way.”

The truth is, it wasn’t a particularly hard order to give in the moment. She’s not a person in those crises - she’s more like a decision tree, making choice after choice as rapidly and carefully as possible until Voyager and its people are out of danger. There was no time to think about what she was doing to him. There was no time.

He takes her hand in both of his and fixes his gaze on hers. “No, I know, that’s what I’m saying - you did  _ everything right _ . _ ”  _ His gaze bores into hers, willing her to understand. “I want you to make those tough decisions. And I don’t want them to hurt you any more than they have to. But all I wanted in that moment was for someone who loves me to stand between me and the madness. Not push me toward it.”

There are tears standing in her eyes now. With an effort, she blinks them away. She thought they let each other go years ago. So why does this feel like the hardest breakup she’s ever had?

“I need to try to build a life where I can have that,” he says softly. “And I see now - really, I finally see - that I can’t ask that of you.”

“I wish you could,” she says. “I wish I could give it.”

“I know.”

She has the crazy urge to kiss him, or declare her love, or claim that she’s secretly found a way to get them back to the Alpha Quadrant tomorrow, or something - anything to keep possession of the steady low-burning devotion that she’s come to rely on. But she can’t.

Instead, she frees her hand and refills his glass and then hers. Locking her eyes to his, she raises her glass.

“To us,” she says. “The greatest love story never told.”

“To us,” he says softly, and clinks his glass with hers.

The cider is bright and cold and sweet on her tongue.


End file.
